Just Another Misfire
by CyanAngelFlare
Summary: Clove has survived the Games. She should be happy, but she has no family to return to in her District. But one encounter will intertwine her future with that of the ones she has killed.
1. The Train

**AN: Here is the sequel you guys! I figured I would end around the same place the original book did and pick up again before the Victory Tour.**

* * *

There are twelve houses in the District 2 Victors' Village and 13 victors. Dacia came to the conclusion that two young Victors living in the same house would be considered too scandalous. So Cato gets his own house and I'm stuck living with Enobaria until the architects finish construction on mine.

* * *

"Keep running!" Enobaria screeches at me. I've been sprinting up and down the same hill for the last twenty minutes. You'd think she'd let me stop and take a breath or something. Guess not.

I take a large enough breath to gasp, "What are we even training for?"

"The Victory Tour starts tomorrow. You need to look your best."

"You're turning me into a bodybuilder. Am I going to bench President Snow or something?"

"If the situation arises, then you should be prepared."

And I'm gone. I'm running as fast as I can back onto the street. Enobaria tries to run after me, but it's no use. Maybe she shouldn't have trained me so hard- I'm much faster than I was before.

The Victors' Village is buzzing with a handful of happy, excited looking people. They are better-fed, better-groomed, better-everything compared to the others in District 2. I even see some kids, children of Victors running between the legs of their parents. Once they are old enough to be Reaped, their odds will be rigged, the slips with their names tripled, just to add some drama to a set of otherwise "boring" Games. There's a dog who runs around here at night. During the day, he hides under the houses, but gets up and raids our gardens as soon as the sun is down. Some of the older Victors have called the Capitol to have it captured, but it always escapes. Besides, it's not like we need the extra food we grow; it just tastes a little better than the stuff we buy in a store.

Large, firm hands shake mine out of nowhere, voices congratulate me, palms slap me on the back encouragingly. The Victory Tour is only cause for celebration in the winner's district. District 2 has double the victors this year. Double the festivities. Double the "fun."

Children with big eyes look at me with admiration, despite the fact that I'm sweaty and sore and my face is almost certainly red.

A something clunks against my thigh. I fumble in my pocket to see if it's still there. The Mockingjay pin. Brutus gave it to me after my final interview.

"This isn't mine." I'd said.

"It was stuck to your knife. I figure you wanted to keep it."

"I don't want it."

I couldn't get rid of it though. I could never bring myself to throw it away. So I keep it with me. I don't wear it as a pin- that would be too much, too horrible. But I did win. So I claimed it. It's mine now.

I open Cato's door. He leaves it unlocked for me. One time, he was in the bathroom and couldn't answer the door so I broke the window. He won't give me a key because he says he's worried I'll stab him with it if we have an argument.

Which, to be fair, is often.

But if I wanted a stabbing implement, I'd just use a knife. Obviously.

"Cato," I yell. I get lost for a couple minutes in his house. I thought I'd remember how to get around by now, considering it's pretty much the same as Enobaria's. I finally reach his room. He's asleep. It's broad daylight and the windows are open, but he has a pillow over his face. I'm surprised he can breathe like that.

"Caaaatoooo," I whisper, poking him. He mumbles something incoherent and flips onto his other side.

I go take a shower in his bathroom. It sounds risky, I know, but it's really fast and I dry off quickly and put my clothes back on. Besides, if I take a shower at Enobaria's she'd probably grab me and force me to run up and down that hill stark naked.

I'm already dressed when he wakes up. His hair is fluffy and sticks out in every direction. If it weren't for his confused expression, he'd resemble a baby bird. "Why are you dressed like that?"

I'm dressed pretty normally, except for the towel on my head. He must be referring to the towel. "Enobaria put me through one of her work-outs."

He blinks a couple times and then gasps. He whips off his comforter. "Gah! What time is it?"

"Around ten. Why?"

"We're going to be late for the train!"

"Cato-" He wrenches his drawers open and begins to yank on the first pair of pants he can find. They are red and very tight. He can barely fit into them.

"The Victory Tour is tomorrow."

He blinks rapidly, as if he was suddenly faced with a glaring light. "What."

"Yeah. It's tomorrow."

"Thank god." He collapses back onto his bed, skinny jeans and all. He cradles a pillow like a child.

I pull the Mockingjay pin out of my pocket and stare at it. Cato peers over his pillow. "What's that?"

I want to shove it back into my pants, but I figure I should just show him. The gold is already catching the light and shimmering anyway. "Katniss' pin."

"Why do you still have it?"

"I don't know," I say, shrugging. It's true, I just can't get rid of the stupid thing. It feels like it still needs to satisfy some unfulfilled purpose.

* * *

 **AN: I'm working on it, believe me. I need to get back in the swing of things with this. Please R & R!**

 **~~~Flare**


	2. Here I Am

The send-off is chaos. The uproar is destroying my eardrums. People cheering. Screaming my name and Cato's. Helios has shipped in a layered blue gown and I'm wearing it now with silk gloves that reach up to my elbow. It's a pretty cool dress.

There's a clump of girls hanging at the edge of the throng. They whisper and shoot death stares at me. Cato's ex-girlfriends. He has a lot of them. They're all varying shades of a typical type of pretty and they can actually afford to wear make up. The gloss on their lips reflect the harsh sunlight. I can't see well from here, but I'm certain they're wearing mascara as well. Maybe even eyeliner. How rich are these girls? And why are there so many of them? And what trail lead Cato from them to me?

I count almost a dozen and there are more, but Brutus is directing me to the train before I can finish counting.

* * *

Our first stop is District Twelve.

It must be the drabbest place ever. No one cheers. Everyone just looks at us with these blank expressions that remind me of those plastic people at the front windows of Capitol clothing stores. Mannequins. I wonder for a moment whether they are all actually dead, just propped up on a wire or something. Someone sneezes. They're alive. Thank god.

I'm wearing a purple dress now and I keep messing with the long layers of my curly ponytail. The hardened hairspray crunches between my fingers. I've tucked the Mockingjay pin between the folds of fabric in my skirt and it dangles there, suspended by a couple of interwoven threads. It threatens to fall on the stage. Then everyone would see that I have taken it.

Even Katniss.

Her face is magnified on a gigantic screen. Peeta's as well. Three men and a grumpy-looking lady line up on his side. On Katniss', a woman and a little girl. Prim.

Cato is prattling on about something that Selene had told him to talk about. The good of society, and all that.

But Prim continually pulls my attention. She isn't even doing anything, really, just watching me with these intense eyes. They are almost carbon copies of her sister's, but blue instead of gray. They burn with something that almost looks like hatred.

Cato nudges me. I pull out some note cards I've been given and read something inane. The mayor is scrutinizing me. Jeez, does everyone here hate me? Probably.

The crowd disperses after a while. Cato begins to pull me towards the train station again.

I impulsively yank out of his grasp. "What are you doing?" he yells.

I sprint down that stage, searching desperately for the little girl. "Prim!" I find myself shouting. "Prim! Wait! Prim!" What am I doing?

I can't see her. I can't see her! "PRIM!

She splits through the crowd, startled, looking for source of the screaming. And then she sees it's me who has been yelling and tries to turn away again. "Prim! Prim, please..."

I grab her hand. She wrenches it free, her expression an even mix of fear and anger. "Leave me alone."

"Prim. I won't hurt you, I swear." She's so small. She barely looks ten, let alone thirteen.

"Get away from me!" she screeches. She turns and sprints into the clump of people that have appeared to watch me make a fool of myself.

 _Look at her_ , I can practically hear them thinking. _Terrorizing a little girl. After what she done to that poor girl's sister._

Two arms seize me from behind. I struggle, thinking that this is a Peacekeeper arresting me. But it's only Cato. His grip is firm and I stop trying to pull myself away.

I clutch the Mockingjay pin in both my hands. I know what I have to do.

* * *

The Everdeen residence is small, barely even a residence. It's a squat, concrete house, just one story.

The woman answering the door (Katniss' mother, I conclude) is pretty. Or was pretty. Her face is weathered, her grayish blonde hair pulled back from her face. She frozen at the threshold, blinking at myself and the enormous bodyguard behind me.

"It's nice to meet you Mrs. Everdeen. I'm Clove Breach." I curtsy a little, figuring that she isn't exactly the hand-shake type.

"What an honor." she mutters, stunned. She remembers herself and says, "Come in."

It isn't an honor; it's a burden. I can see in her eyes that she knows it too. No mother wants her daughter's killer to show up on her doorstep.

And yet, here I am.

* * *

 **AN: A bit on the short side, but okay. I figured it's a good start. Please R &R!**

 **~~~Flare**


	3. Nonsense

"May I speak to Primrose?"

Mrs. Everdeen nods apprehensively, stepping slightly to the side. "She's in the other room."

There's a staticky TV set in the corner and a saggy, gray sofa with an angry-looking cat. It hisses at me, springs from the sofa and disappears into a gap between the floorboards.

I walk through another door frame and find Prim on a small bed, one of two in this dusty second room. She runs into the corner when she spots me.

"Why are you here?" she demands, shivering.

The Mockingjay pin seems to grow heavier in my hand. "I have something for you."

"What?" Her blue eyes dart to my closed fist. "Poison berries?"

I laugh, to lighten the mood a little. It doesn't work. Her tiny jaw is set.

"Something that belonged to Katniss."

She's fighting the glimmer of hope that springs up inside her, but I can just barely see it in her eyes. And the sadness. Tears threaten to spill over her lashes.

I open my fist, palm-up, so she can see the pin. Her eyes widen but she stands still.

"It's yours," I say. "I shouldn't have taken it."

I take her hand-she doesn't struggle for once- and place the pin in her palm. I curl her fingers around the cool metal.

"Thank you," she says coldly.

There's nothing else to do. She's looking at me like I'm an explosive, just about to blow my fuse. I nod and walk out.

Mrs. Everdeen watches me leave through the window. Her eyes are wary.

* * *

Dacia pulls a few strings and we get to skip the feast. I'm glad. I'm not really in the mood for festivities.

Cato holds my hand and I sit down with him on the couch. He turns on the television. The set rumbles along with the hum of the train. Lights from the television flash; they reflect in his blue eyes. Some theme song plays, but it just sounds like white noise to me.

I lay my head on Cato's shoulder. I look at him for a while. His golden hair is all ruffled, shining different colors under the glare of the television.

He notices me staring and threads a bit of hair behind my ear. "Hey."

I smile a little. Not because I feel like smiling, but because I feel obligated to.

"What's wrong?"

"I gave Primrose the Mockingjay pin."

He furrows his brow."Primrose?"

"Katniss' little sister."

"Hmm" is all he says. We turn and watch the mindless crap displayed on the screen. After a few minutes, he mutes it.

"Why?" he says.

"It felt wrong to keep it."

He kisses me, his mouth soft on mine. Then he takes my face in his hands. "You're a good person. You know that, Clove?"

"Are we talking about the same Clove?" I ask. I actually laugh this time.

"The only Clove that matters," he tells me, "is you. So I suppose we are."

I kiss him back. I push him into the armrest of the couch.

"Of course," he continues when we break apart. "I could be referring to the spice called Clove."

"I'm not a spice!' I retort, grinning stupidly. I lightly punch his shoulder.

"Yeah, people keep spices in little containers. If someone tried to put you in a container, they'd end up dead."

"Don't you know it."

"You would be more manageable that way."

I gape. "What about you? What if someone packed you up and put you on a spice rack."

He waved me off dismissively. "That's nonsense. Who ever heard of a spice called 'Cato?'"

* * *

 **AN: Thanks for reading! :) :) :) :)**

 **~~~Flare**


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